


make lemonade

by luckyday



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: All the Greatest Love Stories Start With Food Discourse, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, And the Expectations That Come with That Concept Being the Norm, Fluff and Humor, It's Mostly Two Idiots Being Dramatic Though, M/M, Some Semi-Serious Reflection on the Nature of Soulmates, Soulmates Are Connected by One of Their Senses, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-11-01 13:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20816270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckyday/pseuds/luckyday
Summary: Being bound to your soulmate by the sense of taste isn't the worst thing in the world, although if you were to ask Lee Minho he would strongly disagree. In his opinion it's nothing short of a cosmic joke that he, someone who can't stand lemons, has his taste buds permanently linked to someone who loves them.-Or, the one where Minho finally learns what to do when life won't stop giving you lemons.





	make lemonade

**Author's Note:**

> this was based off a 15 second clip from may of jisung biting into a lemon and minho reacting as if he was the one who bit into it just from watching jisung. he didn't look all that happy about it. made a joke about a soulmate au with the concept of shared senses and... well, here we are five months later. this was kind of meant to be like 1k maybe 2k words tops but like all my minsung fics it got carried away.
> 
> and happy 21st birthday to lee minho! i wasn't actually aiming for this to be a minho birthday fic but uhhh it's his birthday in his timezone AND mine so! happy birthday you beautiful bastard!

Minho first tastes lemon when he’s four years old. 

It’s an accident, really. A fruit laying out on the counter among peaches and oranges to be used in something his parents were making. He’d tasted the others before, but never this one. In a moment of curiosity when his parents turned their back on him, he’d reached for one of the slices and taken a bite out of it. 

Needless to say, he’d cried and spat it out immediately, tears welling up in his eyes as his parents scolded him for eating things he shouldn’t. 

(And maybe laughed at him a bit too, in that good-natured way parents sometimes do when their child learns a harmless lesson the hard way.) 

It was as simple as that. One bad experience with the sour fruit and Minho was set in stone. His parents thought it was funny, frankly, the way he avoided lemons for years after his first run-in with them. Silly, they called him. Stubborn. 

And maybe they’re right. It’s not like he doesn’t change his mind on other things as he gets older, but for the life of him, he can never get over the way that lemon made him cry as a toddler. 

If Minho avoids lemons like the plague? Well, that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

\---

Minho avoids lemons but, in an absolutely awful turn of events, he tastes them again when he’s ten. 

It’s not an accident. He doesn’t miss them in a dish, doesn’t eat one without knowing. It just happens one afternoon, sitting in class trying to read a book while his classmates chatter around him. 

It starts in the middle of a sentence about a boy befriending a wolf. His mouth begins to water, then his eyes. He squints, blinking rapidly as a sour taste begins to fill his mouth. He gags, coughing into the elbow of his shirt as the boy in the seat next to him casts him a worried look. 

It feels like his whole mouth should be filled with juice but it’s not, and that makes sense because he didn’t bite anything but it _doesn’t_ because it tastes like he did, so vividly that it can’t just be his imagination. 

And it can’t be, not when he’s done his best to avoid thinking about this taste for years. 

“Are you okay?” Chanhee, the boy next to him asks. 

“Lemons,” Minho manages to choke out. 

Chanhee just squints at him. “Lemons?” 

“My mouth tastes like lemons,” he says, pushing his glasses up to his forehead so he can wipe at his watering eyes. It feels less like his mouth is filled with lemon juice now, but there’s still the unpleasant aftertaste that makes his whole face scrunch up. 

Chanhee simply blinks at him for a moment, then snorts. “It’s probably your soulmate then.” 

“What?” Minho’s voice comes out hoarse. 

“I said it’s probably your soulmate,” Chanhee repeats simply. “You probably share your sense of taste.” 

And then he turns away from Minho, back to his own book. Like he just said everything that needs to be said and there’s nothing to worry about anymore as Minho wipes his mouth on the corner of his sleeve, trying to clean lemon juice from his lips that isn’t there. 

\---

He’s not sure he can recall the first time he heard about soulmates, it’s just a concept that’s always been there. A perfect other half, two parts of a whole split and the only thing connecting them one linked sense and whatever strings the universe pulls them together with. 

His parents being the first experience with the concept of soulmates would make sense: a shared sense of sight, manifesting in blurred dreams when one’s asleep and one’s awake. If he really thinks back, he can remember a spat his parents had when he was young because his father watched a movie while his mother slept and it leaked through into her dreams and spoiled it for her. 

He’s met at least a few people of every linked sense and the funny thing is that everybody is at least a little annoyed with the quirks that leak through the soulmate bond. At least a little bit. 

He messed around with a guy with a touch bond back in high school for a bit— nothing serious, just casual fun where they both knew they weren’t meant for the long run— and the number of times he heard him complain about temperature wherever his soulmate was in the wool sweaters they wore that made his skin crawl… Minho has his gripes with his soulmate and his lemon problem, but he definitely doesn’t envy touch bonds. 

So the thing about soulmates, Minho decides as he gets older, is that they kind of suck. In fact, they’re downright inconvenient sometimes. 

In a sick, cruel twist of fate, the universe decided to match him with someone who apparently can’t get enough of lemons, and if that wasn’t enough it decided to tie their sense of taste together. 

Minho’s life is a joke and the obnoxious recurring taste of lemons is the punchline. 

His parents think it’s hilarious. When he meets Changbin their freshman year of college after being dumped in the same shitty dorm together, the guy laughs himself silly when he hears Minho rant about his soulmate for the first time. Minho doesn’t see what’s so funny, but that doesn’t stop anybody else. 

Lucky for him, he can at least poke and prod Changbin right back. 

“How’s soulmate radio?” Minho asks one night, the two of them seated across from each other at a little restaurant not far from their apartment and campus. 

“Loud,” Changbin says. “Must be somewhere with a lot of people.” 

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Better than the birds?” 

“Anything is better than the fucking birds,” Changbin says ruefully. Not a week goes by that Changbin doesn’t wake up complaining about the sound of birds coming from the other end of his bond early in the morning. 

“Well, at least you’re giving it right back,” Minho says, gesturing around them. It’s crowded, not surprising for a Friday night. The place is cheap but good and close home, making it a regular for students. 

Changbin barks out a laugh. “I guess you’re right. At least it’s not as noticeable specifically because of how loud it is right now. It kind of blends in, honestly.” 

“I don’t know how you do the sound bond, honestly,” Minho says with a little shake of his head. “If I was trying to sleep and got woken up by some asshole’s alarm way earlier than I had to be up I think I’d actually go crazy.” 

“I guess it’s kind of annoying,” Changbin acknowledges thoughtfully. “Honestly though, it’s all I’ve really known. It’s like living next to somewhere close to heavy traffic or train tracks, or somewhere that planes fly over a lot. Eventually, you just get used to it. It might bother someone else, but it’s just so normal to you that you can filter it out.” 

“Except for the fucking birds,” Minho chimes in. 

“Except for the fucking birds,” Changbin agrees. “They’re my one big annoyance. The rest I can deal with, but the birds? I don’t know why they come through so much. Everything else is just background noise but I _swear_ those birds are bass boosted. But like I said, besides them, it’s not too bad.” 

“That’s bizarre to me.” Minho can’t imagine ever getting used to his taste bond. Maybe because it’s less consistent, less of a steady flow. Changbin’s always described it as sound coming from the apartment next door, muffled and unclear. In that case, he can understand how Changbin could get used to it, but it doesn’t make it any less of a nightmare scenario for Minho. 

What can he say? He likes his sleep. 

“Would you take it over your taste bond?” Changbin asks. 

Minho frowns. Honestly, he’s thought a lot about the alternative bonds. Touch would be a nightmare, as much as he dislikes the taste bond he’s glad he didn’t end up with that. Sight? He knows firsthand from his parents that it can be a bit annoying when it comes to seeing things you don’t want to see, but ultimately their experience seems like it’s been relatively harmless. They’re mellow people, of course, so that helps. He wouldn’t mind trading his taste bond so he could inherit a sight bond. Smell? No. He’ll leave it at that. 

But a sound bond? That’s tricky. 

“I mean, I definitely don’t think it would be the worst to have,” he says slowly. “Especially if it’s something you can adjust to so it’s not as intrusive as it sounds from an outsider’s perspective— pardon the language—” Changbin rolls his eyes. “—If it’s something you can get used to I don’t think I’d mind trading. But at the same time, I’m also me and when I want peace and quiet, I want peace and quiet. Don’t want anybody interrupting that, soulmate bound by the strings of fate or not.” 

Changbin laughs at that. “Yeah, you’re right. If you have problems with me playing music from my room at a reasonable level then there’s no way I can see you being happy with someone else’s sounds all the time.” 

“We have different definitions of reasonable,” Minho says. 

“Apparently,” Changbin agrees, making Minho shake his head. 

He takes a sip of his water and immediately pauses. 

“What’s wrong?” Changbin asks with a frown, slowly lowering the piece of food he just picked up back down to his plate. Despite their bickering, Changbin’s always been quick to hone in on Minho’s moods. 

Minho lowers his cup and stares down into the clear glass, his face twisted up in displeasure. 

“Bastard,” he murmurs, putting his drink down. “My water tastes like some kind of peach soda.” 

Changbin snorts, seemingly reassured that it’s nothing out of the usual before picking his food up again. “Your soulmate has a sweet tooth, Minho. Maybe it’s to balance you out.” 

Minho scowls. “What does that mean?” 

Changbin blinks innocently at him, chewing and swallowing another bite before answering. “Oh, I don’t know. You know what they say about sweet and sour going well together.” 

“Shut your mouth, I’m not—” Minho starts, but when Changbin smiles cheekily at him he shuts _his_ mouth and grits his teeth. 

“Don’t grind your teeth, Minho, it’s bad for you,” Changbin chides, and despite the teasing, the look he gives him is undoubtedly fond. 

Instead of replying he simply sighs, ignoring his roommate and letting him go back to picking at his food while he lets his gaze wander around the restaurant. Specifically, it falls on the same table it’s been drawn to all night; all the way across the room and filled with four boys their age, maybe a year or two younger. 

They’re loud. Not obnoxious loud in the way that would make them absolutely intolerable, but loud in that they’re aware enough of their surroundings to keep their volume reasonable while still obviously having a good time with each other. 

One boy, in particular, keeps catching his eye, his laugh infectious every time it floats across the room. He’s got shaggy blonde hair he keeps sweeping out of his eyes only for it to fall back into place every time he laughs, throwing his whole body back at even the slightest comment. 

His cheeks, though. His cheeks. Soft and full, rounding out his face and making him just look _friendly_. 

Okay, yeah. Minho’s gay. Minho’s gay and whoever this guy is, he’s pretty damn cute. It’s not like there’s any harm in looking— and besides, soulmates be damned, if he avoided every cute guy because he wasn’t his soulmate, he’d be kind of miserable. 

Who can’t appreciate a little bit of fun? Not everything is about the long term, after all. Sometimes he just wants to live in the moment; specifically moments that involve kissing cute boys. 

He’s in the middle of contemplating finding a way over to him to maybe ask for his number when he watches the boy at the other table picks a lemon slice up off his plate, pausing before it hits his lips to reply to something the boy next to him says. Minho’s nose crinkles at the sight. Ah well. As cute as he seemed from this far away, everybody has to have some kind of flaw. Cute boy’s flaw seems to be eating lemons. 

Changbin must notice his expression because he turns his head to follow Minho’s gaze, landing on where the boy is still holding the lemon slice and talking adamantly with his friends. He turns back to Minho, an amused look on his face. “Really? Was that what you were looking at this whole time?” 

“Shut up, I’m done now,” Minho says, flicking his napkin lightly in Changbin’s direction. 

Changbin snorts. “You’re so funny, you think a guy is cute and then get turned off because he likes lemons?” 

“It’s a fatal flaw that no amount of cuteness can outweigh,” he says firmly. “I don’t need that kind of negative energy in my life.” 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Lee Minho,” Changbin declares, and Minho makes an ugly face at his best friend that just makes him roll his eyes, used to Minho’s shit. “Besides, you don’t really get a say in that. I think the universe decided a long time ago that you’re literally bound by fate to get that exact kind of ‘negative energy’ in your life.” 

“Alright,” Minho says dryly. “Well, that doesn’t mean I need any more lemon lovers in my life than the universe has already assigned me. One is enough and you can bet that I will have some strong words for him when he finally shows his face around me.” 

“Dramatic,” Changbin says. 

Maybe, he thinks, but after years of that awful taste being put in his mouth despite all his attempts to avoid it, he _thinks_ he gets to be a little dramatic. At the very least he thinks he deserves to have a discussion with the guy about what their shared taste buds get used for. It’s not like he’s unreasonable; if push came to shove he’d be willing to negotiate anything his soulmate doesn’t like too. 

Lemon Boy is still pretty cute though, despite Minho claiming that the lemon is a dealbreaker. Okay, maybe he’s not quite that dramatic. Not quite. The way the guy puffs his cheeks out at something one of his friends says is more than a little adorable, and admittedly the way he sticks his bottom lip out in a pout before he takes a bite of the lemon slice is probably enough for Minho to let the lemon thing slide, and— 

Minho chokes on lemon juice that isn’t there. 

“Woah,” Changbin reaches across the table to grab Minho’s arm, looking at him in concern. “You okay?” 

Unable to string together a competent sentence from the mess of thoughts inside his head, all Minho can do is reach up to wipe at his eyes as his lips press together. 

Changbin has known him long enough to recognize The Look when he sees it, and instantly the concern drops off his face, replaced by amusement. “So, lemons, huh?” 

Minho doesn't even have it in him to bite back at him, simply flicking his eyes back and forth between his best friend and the boy across the room. Changbin’s eyebrows shoot up in confusion at Minho’s lack of bickering and seems to finally process where Minho keeps glancing, spinning in his seat just in time to watch the boy pull the lemon slice from his mouth and set the remains on the corner of his plate. 

“Oh my god,” Changbin says, turning to look rapidly between the boy across the room and Minho’s suddenly pale, wide-eyed face. “Oh my god, shut up. This is fucking hilarious, you can’t be serious.” 

“It could just be a coincidence,” Minho manages after a moment, and yet— and yet he can’t tear his eyes off of the guy on the other side of the room. 

“It could be,” Changbin agrees, but now he’s staring at Lemon Boy too. It can’t be, right? “Not everybody has the same hang up on lemons as you do.” 

“Right,” Minho says, voice tight. “Right, right. Just a guy eating lemons.” 

“Maybe,” Changbin says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. 

He’s about to make a pointed comment about going back to eating their food before it gets cold when Lemon Boy laughs at something his friend says before picking up his glass. The hairs on the back of Minho’s neck stand up as he watches the other boy put the glass to his lips and before it even comes, he prepares himself for the taste of peach soda. 

It fills his mouth and all he can manage is a soft, “Fuck.” 

“Peach soda, right?” Changbin asks, not even bothering to turn back to Minho or hide the way he’s staring at the other table— not that Minho can either, it feels like passing by a car accident; he can’t take his eyes off the blonde boy. Changbin sounds downright giddy as he speaks, which is much more than Minho can say for himself. 

“Fuck,” Minho repeats, which is enough of an answer for Changbin. 

His best friend turns to him with a big grin, bigger than he’s seen in a long time. “Well, come on, idiot. You have to say hello, right? Introduce yourself?” 

“Maybe I won’t,” Minho says immediately, and he can’t shake the way something in his stomach twists at the idea. “I don’t like talking to people, maybe I just want the night to be a you and me time. A night between pals, just us.” 

“Bullshit,” Changbin shoots back. “You never have any trouble chatting up guys when we go out somewhere together! And I never have any problems with it!” 

“It’s different,” Minho says, and he knows he sounds defensive but he can’t help it. 

“How?” Changbin asks, brows furrowed. “Because he’s your soulmate?” 

_Yes,_ Minho wants to yell. Yes, it’s different because those other guys didn’t share his taste buds, they weren’t bound to him by some bullshit cosmic force that made them his perfect other half. They were fun, they were simple, they were temporary. The stranger— the _stranger_— sitting across the room is an inevitable, something guaranteed since the moment he was born. Something meant to be permanent the moment their paths cross. 

If that kind of scares the shit out of Minho now that it’s apparently looking him in the face— and_ fuck,_ one of Lemon Boy’s friends has actually noticed him and Changbin staring and is looking back at them with curiosity— then can he really be blamed? Is it really so bizarre that something so absolute makes his stomach turn? Especially when he doesn’t even know the guy, no matter if he thinks he’s cute? 

“It just is,” Minho manages, because he doesn’t want to sound like an idiot. You’re supposed to be happy to find your soulmate— love at first sight and all that bullshit sold to him in a pretty package since he was old enough to understand the concept— so maybe it’s just something wrong with him. 

“Fine,” Changbin says, tapping his fingers on the table as he studies Minho’s face. “How about this: literally minutes ago you were talking shit about how you were going to have strong words with your soulmate about their lemon eating ways when you finally met them. Well, asshole, now’s your chance.” 

Funny, that. That seemed so much easier a few minutes ago when he didn’t know his soulmate is sitting across the room from him. Now the concept of talking to him at all, even to bitch about lemons— which he can and will bitch about for hours on end as his friends and family all know— makes him feel a bit woozy. 

“You know I talk big but I’m an introvert, I wouldn’t actually do that to someone I don’t know,” Minho says. 

“Well, Minho,” Changbin says, turning back to look over at the other table. All four boys are looking back at them with curiosity now, clearly having caught onto their staring. When Lemon Boy’s eyes catch Minho’s for the first time, a shiver runs down Minho’s spine. The blonde blinks slowly before a small, unsure smile spreads across his face. Minho drops his eyes down to the half-eaten plate of food in front of him, heat creeping up the back of his neck. “One way or another, I think you might end up talking to him tonight.” 

“Fuck,” he says. 

Changbin laughs for a moment before his voice suddenly softens. “Hey, look. If it really freaks you out so much I’ll get you out of here. Fuck the soulmate business, right? I tease you but if you don’t think you’re ready just say the word and we’ll bounce. I’ll distract them, make a scene, whatever.” 

“You won’t make a scene,” Minho responds instantly, but he can’t stop the way the corners of his lips turn up at his best friend’s words. “You aren’t that kind of person.” 

“Okay, maybe not something that’s inconvenient to the staff and everyone else here,” Changbin relents. “But I got your back, man.” 

Minho sighs at that. “No, no, you don’t have to do that. One way or another I’m going to run into him again, that’s… literally how this shit works, right? Fate and all that. No point running from it, I guess.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Changbin says, immediately brightening up again. “Now we just have to get you over there! Do your chatting up guys thing!” 

“Uh, not sure I can do that here,” Minho says, still not bothering to look up in case he catches somebody at the other table’s eyes. “Not to say I’m rusty or anything, but… kind of way different to go up to someone to flirt versus going up to someone to tell them you’re pretty sure they’re your soulmate. Also, I know this isn’t exactly a five-star restaurant or anything but this isn’t exactly the most appropriate place to pick up guys anyways, much less my_ soulmate_.” 

Changbin is silent for a moment before he admits, “Yeah, okay. Yeah, I see your point. So how are we going to get this done?” 

“We could just wait for them to finish their meal and try to catch them outside,” Minho suggests, rubbing his neck. He’s kind of lost his appetite suddenly anyways, he’s honestly ready to pay for it and get going now. 

“That’ll work,” Changbin says. “So we’ll just wing it?” 

“We’ll wing it,” Minho agrees. 

Winging it, as it turns out, involves a lot of downright excruciating waiting. Minho’s always considered himself a fairly patient person but the next twenty minutes of pushing food around on his plate while they wait for the boys at the other table to finish up feel more like two hours than anything else. 

Finally— _finally_— the other boys call for their check and start divvying it up. As soon as they’re finished paying and are out of their seats, Changbin is flagging down another waiter for theirs. Minho goes for his wallet but Changbin immediately waves him off, mumbling something about how he can’t pay on ‘such a special day’ which honestly makes Minho want to keel over. 

He hates how badly this is messing with him. He wants to go back to forty minutes ago when he was literally joking about how he’s going to have stern words with his soulmate when they finally meet. Having part of your life supposedly set in stone by the universe is a lot less intimidating when it’s just an abstract concept without a face— no matter how cute Minho admits that face is. 

Changbin practically drags Minho out of the restaurant when he’s finished paying, the two of them stepping out of the main doors and into the autumn evening. The sun is only just visible over the horizon, the very edge painted with reds and golds than melt into an indigo sky above. It’s just dark enough that as they walk outside the lights of the parking lot turn on, illuminating Minho’s beat-up little car where it sits a row of cars back. More importantly, it shines a spotlight on where the four boys from earlier are gathered around a surprisingly nice silver car of their own on the other side of the row. 

“So,” Changbin says slowly after a moment of the two of them just standing under the entrance lights of the restaurant staring out across the parking lot at the group of boys. 

“So,” Minho echoes. 

“Any ideas?” Changbin raises an eyebrow. 

“Not a single one,” Minho admits. 

“Okay. We’re doing my stupid idea that I came up with literally in the time it took for us to walk out here before they drive off then,” Changbin decides, firmly grasping a bewildered Minho by the sleeve and starting to drag him in their direction. 

“Hey!” Minho protests weakly, even as he allows himself to be pulled. His best friend ignores him. 

“Yo,” Changbin says loudly, getting the other boys’ attention from where they’re all gathered around the car. “Can we talk to you for a sec?” 

One of the boys— the tallest one that was sitting next to Lemon Boy with a beauty mark under one eye— can’t hide the little smirk that spreads across his face, turning to look directly at the lemon-eater in question. Okay. So they definitely know it’s about him. They definitely have some idea what’s going on, although he kind of doubts they fully understand the gravity of the situation. 

Speaking of Lemon Boy— god, he really needs to learn his name. Oh, jeez, it’s setting in that he’s going to learn his soulmate’s name in a minute or two if he doesn’t get weirded out and just leave. That’s a lot to take in. That’s a lot. Okay. 

“What’s up?” Lemon Boy asks, and something twists in Minho’s chest. He has a nice voice. Nothing too deep or too high, a mellow in between. Pleasant. Something he could imagine hearing on the radio. 

“We were just wondering,” Minho starts, and the way his voice comes out much quieter than he intends catches him off-guard. Not to say he’s some god at chatting up guys or anything, no matter the jokes he and Changbin may crack about his decent track record, but at least he usually doesn’t have troubles outright _speaking up_ around the guys he talks to. “Uh, Changbin—” 

He doesn’t know what Changbin’s plan is enough to assist in whatever wingman scheme he has going, but luckily for him, Changbin seems ready to steamroll right to the objective no matter how shy Minho suddenly finds himself. 

“Guess what flavor gum this is,” Changbin challenges suddenly, holding up a piece of gum wrapped in silver foil that he just pulled out of his pocket. 

The boys’ knowing looks towards Minho and curiosity immediately morph into ones of confusion, looking incredibly lost at this stranger’s sudden proposal. 

“Spearmint?” The one with ruffled brown hair and glasses asks, frowning at Changbin. “Peppermint?” 

Changbin scowls at him, waving his hand dismissively. “No! I haven’t even started the guessing game— and besides, I wasn’t talking to you.” 

The boy scowls right back. “Well, maybe you should say that. And you already broached the question, I’m pretty sure it’s started.” 

“It’s not a random guess kind of thing,” Changbin argues, crossing his arms over his chest, the stick of gum still in hand. “And what kind of game would it be if it was just a flavor like mint?” 

“I don’t know,” the boy says, shaking his head. “It seems like you have a lot of unsaid things about this game.” 

Changbin is getting sidetracked easily by this boy. Unfortunately, Minho’s best friend is stubborn and argumentative when he wants to be and it seems like this stranger is as well, intent on picking apart Changbin’s ‘game’. Not that Minho would personally call this attempt to meet his soulmate a game, no matter how Changbin’s decided to orchestrate it on the fly, but his friend and this boy seem to have other ideas. 

The last boy, the one with freckles and ruffled ginger hair, leans over to the tallest and speaks soft enough that Changbin and the other boy can’t hear over their sudden banter— but loud enough that Minho can hear it, although he’s pretty sure that’s not intentional… probably. “I think this is one of the weirder ways one of us has been flirted with.” 

“I don’t even know who’s flirting with who,” the tall boy says, looking back and forth between Minho and Changbin, then back to Glasses and Lemon Boy. He at least says it like he has a good idea that Minho is paying attention to them even if Changbin isn’t. Warmth creeps up the back of Minho’s neck. 

Yeah, this whole thing has kind of gone a bit south. Bless Changbin for trying, though. 

Gently taking the edge of Changbin’s sleeve between his fingers, Minho starts to say, “Changbin, maybe—” 

“Who were you asking to play?” Lemon Boy asks suddenly, making Changbin and the other boy stop their bickering on the semantics of the ‘game’ and pulling their eyes back to him. He looks at Changbin with wide, curious eyes that reflect the lights of the restaurant parking lot like stars. 

“Oh,” Changbin says, clearing his throat and glancing nervously at Minho like he seems to have realized that he got more than a little distracted. Minho gives a tiny shrug. “Well, honestly I was asking you.” 

Lemon Boy raises an eyebrow, reaching up to point at himself. He has nice hands, Minho thinks absently. The rings he wears on his pinky and index finger are pretty. “Me?” 

“Yeah.” Changbin nods. 

His mouth tilts sideways slightly, his face scrunching up a little like he’s thinking. “And you said it’s not just random guessing, huh? How does that work then?” 

“Either you’ll know or you won’t,” Changbin says, and Minho could hit him for how ominous he’s being. 

At this point Minho’s about ready to put this whole situation down, just tell the guy he thinks he’s his soulmate and end his fucking suffering when Lemon Boy’s face lights up with what Minho can only think to call a cocky grin. 

Oh. 

“Cryptic,” he says, shoving both his hands into the pockets of his jacket and leaning back slightly. “I do love a challenge. What do I get if I win?” 

Changbin looks directly at Minho, seemingly a little lost at what he’s supposed to be betting. 

_Uh, the revelation of the face of your perfect other half bound to you by time and space?_ That’s a little too much to raise as a prize in this bet though. Probably. 

“I’ll pay for a coffee,” Minho blurts out, the first thing that comes to mind. 

Lemon Boys blinks in response, apparently as caught off guard by Minho’s offer as Minho himself is. Coffee? Really? “A coffee?” 

Quickly, Minho adds, “If you don’t drink coffee I’ll buy you something else, like… hot chocolate. Tea. Whatever.” 

“Like a coffee date?” Lemon Boy is looking at him curiously. 

Oh, fuck. What is he talking himself into? Fuck winging it. He’s usually good at this kind of thing but suddenly it feels like he should never wing anything in his life ever again because he is god awful at it. 

Minho shakes his head a little, mouth dry. “No, that’s… I’ll buy it for you and I can just… let you have it. You don’t have to drink it with me.” 

He hums thoughtfully at that, tilting his head to the side so stands of blonde fall into his eyes. “So I guess if the prize for me winning is you buying me coffee and going on your way, then the prize for if I don’t guess it and you win is I go on a coffee date with you, right?” 

“Sure,” Minho says weakly. That makes sense. That will work for now. Thank god this guy is working the specifics of his and Changbin’s shaky plan out on his own. 

“I’m game,” the guy says. “Can I get a name first?” 

“Minho.” It’s kind of a miracle he manages to get his name out; his head feels like it’s doing cartwheels right now. 

“Jisung,” the other boy offers in return, his grin softening into a much more easygoing, friendly smile. Jisung. That’s a nice name. He turns to look at Changbin again. “How many guesses do I get?” 

“Just one,” Changbin says. “You just need the one.” 

Lemon Boy— Jisung— hums at that. “A tough challenge, but I’ll take it on.” 

The tall boy laughs. “You’re too competitive even with strangers!” 

“I like to win,” Jisung says, and his eyes sweep over to Minho with enough confidence that Minho nearly bites down on his own tongue. 

This kid is unnerving. In any other situation, Minho would probably find this attractive, _hot_ even— he chooses to ignore the way his chest tightens in response anyways— but as is, the fact that he’s so effortlessly charming within minutes of actually meeting is stressing Minho out. He would without a doubt be all over him in any other situation if there was no soulmate baggage attached; hell, he was considering it earlier before he was hit with the revelation. 

Fuck the universe for complicating things, Minho decides. 

“So we’re on?” Changbin asks. 

“We’re on,” Jisung confirms easily, eyebrows slightly raised in expectation as his eyes flicker between Minho and Changbin. “So I just make a guess or what?” 

“Well,” Changbin says, placing the stick of gum in Minho’s hand. Jisung’s eyebrows shoot up even further. “First you wait for Minho here to pop it in, then you can make your one guess.” He glances at Minho for a moment, unsure. “It might take a moment to kick in?” 

Minho simply shrugs. How is he supposed to know the exact delay between two sides of the soulmate bond? From the lemon in the restaurant, it seems like it happens instantly, but for all he knows that could just be because the taste stands out to him so much. Who’s to say if less prominent or strong tastes hit as strongly or as quickly? 

“Uh, just give it a few seconds before spitting out a guess,” Changbin decides, looking back at Jisung. 

Jisung looks more puzzled than anything at this point but he certainly doesn’t look like he’s going to back out, no matter how weird this challenge seems to be. He simply nods. 

So this is really happening. There’s really no weaseling out of this. Hypothetically he could change his mind and just refuse, but— well, as much as this entire situation of confronting his soulmate is stressing him out, he thinks walking away this deep into it would stress him out even more. 

“Turn around, Minho,” Changbin instructs. 

When he unwraps the stick of gum, he can’t help but roll his eyes. Changbin has a thing for novelty items, especially when it comes to flavors of food and gum. He recognizes this one right away: a stick from the pack of pickle-flavored gum he bought two days ago when they went out shopping together. He’s never actually tried it, but he doesn’t really think he has to in order to know that it’s bad. It’s not like Changbin buys these for how good they are, he buys them for the _experience_. 

Still, he can definitely understand why this is what came to mind when Changbin was thinking of a plan on the spot. Honestly, he’s a little impressed. As far as gum flavors go, Minho doubts that pickle flavor would be anywhere near somebody’s top guesses. It’s unusual and— unless they totally botched it— an extremely distinct flavor. 

It’s kind of perfect as far as improvised plans revolving around a shared sense of taste go. 

“Now?” Minho asks. 

“Go for it,” Changbin says. 

Minho promptly puts the stick of gum into his mouth. 

It tastes fucking awful. His face scrunches up in response to the horrible briny tanginess that no piece of gum should have and despite himself, he can’t help but be glad that Changbin had him turn around for this because he’s _sure_ the face he makes is downright ugly. It’s highly processed and artificial, but without a doubt, it tastes like something… _akin_ to pickles. It’s hard to imagine anything this else this could be mistaken as if not for some imitation of pickles, as much of an abomination as this is. 

It’s perfect. 

Changbin is buying him something, literally anything, to make up for convincing him to put this in his mouth no matter how this whole situation turns out. 

From behind him, Jisung gags. 

Minho swirls around at the sound before he can stop himself. When he turns, Jisung is staring at him with what Minho can only think to describe as awe. 

“Mango?” glasses guy suggests. “A really awful mango?” 

“It’s probably like… grape,” the freckled kid suggests. “You know when they make artificial grape flavors and it just ends up tasting like medicine?” 

Changbin doesn’t even bother trying to stop them from helping Jisung guess; it’s obvious enough from the way Jisung is looking at Minho that Jisung knows exactly what flavor gum Minho is tasting right now— because he’s tasting it too. 

“Pickles,” Jisung says quietly, not taking his eyes off of Minho, and it’s like something nameless clicks into place that Minho didn’t even know was missing. 

“_Pickles_?” glasses guy echoes incredulously. “Jisung, you’re wasting your one guess on that?” 

“Maybe he really wants to lose,” the guy with freckles suggests quietly, making the tall boy next to him snort. 

“He probably does,” he agrees. 

Minho can feel Changbin staring at him, yet he can’t bring himself to look away from Jisung. It’s hard to read what exactly is going on in his head beyond the obvious shock, but whatever it is, Jisung can’t stop staring either. 

At least, until he realizes that however awful the initial flavor of the gum is, the aftertaste is a hundred times worse. He chokes, reaching up to cover his mouth. 

“Oi!” Changbin grabs at Minho’s other hand where he’s still holding the wrapper. “Spit it out you dumbass! It’s done, he got it! He knows!” 

He barely manages to get it into the wrapper again without wretching. At the same time, Jisung starts coughing, his face twisted into a look of pure disgust. 

“Who the fuck makes pickle-flavored gum?” Jisung asks, voice slightly rough. 

“It’s a novelty item,” Changbin says defensively, reaching up to pat Minho’s back as he tries not to focus too much on the lingering taste of the gum. “It’s not about how it tastes, it’s about the joy of owning something weird!” 

“There is absolutely nothing joyful about that gum,” Jisung says. 

“Wait, so it is pickles?” The boy with freckles is blinking rapidly. 

With a groan, Jisung’s friend with the glasses pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh, for the love of— you _would_ meet your soulmate through some stupid bet.” 

“Soulmate,” the tall one repeats blankly, then points at Minho. “Fuck, you mean him?” 

“I mean, it’s certainly not me,” Changbin says dryly. The pats have turned into rubs now, and as nice as it feels Minho kind of gets the impression that he’s keeping his hand on Minho’s back so he can grab onto his jacket if Minho tries to weasel out of this. 

Frankly? He’s probably right to do so because this whole thing is even more mortifying than he expected and turning around and bolting is very tempting. He doesn’t like the way the other boys are all studying him now— and worse yet, Jisung still hasn’t directly spoken to Minho beyond the general confirmation of the flavor. 

It’s making him feel nauseous, although the aftertaste of the gum probably doesn’t help. 

Jisung is still just staring, hands fiddling with the edge of his jacket. 

Great. 

“Well,” the boy with glasses says, “this is certainly not awkward at all.” 

“Shit, I’m just thinking, Seungmin,” Jisung snaps, breaking his gaze away from Minho for the first time so he can turn to look at his friend. The boy with glasses— Seungmin— just gives a little shrug. “This is a lot. I’m just— I’m just taking a minute to think, okay?” 

“Sorry.” The word fumbles out of Minho’s mouth before he can stop it. He regrets it immediately as the other boys’ eyes all snap back to him. “Sorry, this is weird. I don’t know how to— I’ve never done this before.” 

He winces. Of course he’s never done this before. Why are words so hard suddenly? 

In the corner of his vision, he barely registers Changbin looking at him like he’s ready to slap a hand over Minho’s mouth to keep him from making things more awkward. 

God, what the fuck do you say when you just revealed yourself to your soulmate and he’s a stranger? Is there a guidebook for that? Probably, actually. Suddenly he regrets balking at all the stupid articles that always show up in his newsfeed about how to introduce yourself to someone you think is your soulmate. 

Okay. It’s time, Minho decides. It’s time to just cut and go. He can’t take feeling like a fish out of water any more tonight. 

“Um, sorry,” Minho says, reaching to fidget with the ring on his thumb. “I didn’t mean to make things awkward for you or ruin your night or anything. I should— me and Changbin should—” 

He gestures weakly in the direction of their car. 

Changbin lets out a big sigh. He promised to pull Minho out of the situation if he decided he didn’t want to be here, and as much as he obviously wants this to work out, he’s not going to just leave Minho to flail helplessly. 

Suddenly, Jisung’s face shifts. What was a perplexed and understandably shocked expression turns into something completely unreadable for just a second before his entire face relaxes, an easy smile replacing his thin lips. “You didn’t make anything awkward, don’t worry about it.” 

Minho freezes, hand still vaguely pointing towards his car. 

Where is this change coming from? 

A sparkle returns to Jisung’s eyes, not unlike the one from earlier when he first heard the bet. “Your friend, however…” 

Changbin bristles immediately, puffing up in a way that resembles a pissed off raven. The oversized black coat doesn’t help any. “Hey! I did the best that I could in the moment!” 

A tiny laugh escapes Minho’s lips. It’s half amusement at how easily Changbin gets worked up, half bone-deep nervousness. 

Changbin turns to look at him accusingly. “Don’t laugh, you dick! I did it for you!” 

“Thanks,” Minho manages. And he does mean it. “It is awkward though.” 

“You’re usually good at talking to people!” Changbin says, giving his arm a light shove. “How was I supposed to know you’d go quiet?” 

“I can’t believe this is the first time somebody in our group has met their soulmate and it’s going like this,” Seungmin says, still pinching the bridge of his nose. He finally lowers his hand with a sigh, turning to look at Changbin. “Your plan was novelty gum? Really?” 

Changbin scowls. “Hey, kid, you try coming up with something better! They have a taste bond, I have bizarre gum, it works! It’s weird but it worked!” 

“Don’t call me kid,” Seungmin shoots back. 

Their earlier bickering resumes, much to Minho’s exasperation. Seungmin’s good at getting under Changbin’s skin, that’s for sure. Jisung, for his part, simply regards the pair with amusement. 

“I’m Felix,” the boy with freckles says, making Minho blink and look away from the scene. He’s looking at Minho with warm, curious eyes. He doesn’t feel nearly as exposed as when the others were staring at him. Kind eyes, Minho decides. It’s a nice change from the tension he’s felt since Changbin dragged him over here. 

“Minho,” he replies, then presses his lips together as he remembers that, yes, he has in fact told them his name already. Stupid. 

“Hyunjin,” the tall boy says. Then he shakes his head before walking over to where Seungmin and Changbin are arguing and rests his hands on Seungmin’s shoulder, speaking quietly to him. Whatever he says must work and Seungmin rolls his eyes before crossing his arms across his chest, seemingly putting an end to the bickering. 

“Well,” Jisung says, and it takes Minho a moment to realize that he’s talking to him now. Sure enough, Jisung is looking right at him again. It _should_ unnerve him like earlier, except this time there’s no trace of the strange, hard to read stare. In fact, Jisung isn’t looking at him oddly at all now; he’s simply looking at him with an easy friendliness and a warm, effortless smile that makes Minho feel less like he’s on the spot and more like he’s just… talking to someone he just met. It’s nice. “I won’t keep you guys any longer. It’s getting kinda late. That said, I absolutely won your bet.” 

Minho simply stares at him in confusion. Then it clicks. 

“Oh,” he says, shuffling his feet and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Well, yeah. You did. I’m supposed to buy you coffee.” 

Jisung raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you picking the place, or do you mind if I do?” He simply shrugs, which Jisung takes as enough of an answer. “Okay, because there’s this little corner shop that makes killer hot chocolate and if I can wrangle a free one out of this reward then that would be wonderful.” 

“Ask his number so you can contact him,” Changbin says under his breath. It’s obviously not said quietly enough because Seungmin snorts. 

Slowly, Minho pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Are you comfortable giving me your number so we can work it out?” 

“Are _you_ comfortable with it?” Jisung asks, and Minho’s surprised at how genuine the question is. 

Is he? He’s not… uncomfortable, exactly. Jisung seems nice. Really nice. In fact, now he seems downright friendly. It’s just that he knows the context that the two of them are in, and he can’t stop thinking about that context, but— 

“I am,” he decides before he can talk himself out of it. 

“Cool,” Jisung says, walking forward and pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Wanna trade or do you want to put my number in yourself?” 

“We can trade,” Minho says. It’s a little thing, but he has to admit he appreciates Jisung asking what he’s comfortable with. Newly discovered soulmates our not, Jisung seems to be the kind of person to care about other people’s boundaries. He lets Jisung switch their phones, typing his contact info into Jisung’s despite his fingers tingling in that way they sometimes do before they go numb from anxiety. 

“Nice,” Jisung says when Minho finally hands the phone back, flashing Minho a big smile that makes his chest tighten. “Well, I’ll be sure to collect my reward soon, okay?” 

“Okay,” Minho says, swallowing around a tongue that feels like lead. Why on earth is it so hard to talk? He hopes this isn’t going to be a reoccurring thing. 

Jisung gives a little two-fingered salute, still smiling as he takes a couple of steps backwards in the direction of their car. “Nice to meet you, Minho.” 

His name on Jisung’s lips makes the back of Minho’s neck prickle. All he can do is stare as the other group of boys shuffle back into the car— unsubtly stealing glances in his direction while doing so— until Changbin grabs his by the back of the collar and starts to drag him in the direction of where they parked. 

As he’s pulled away, Jisung gives him a little wave from the passenger’s seat that he returns without thinking. 

When they get back to the apartment, Minho tugs at Changbin’s arm until he’s pulled halfway into his arms, giving him a tiny hug before releasing him. 

“Thank you,” Minho says quietly. 

“You’re welcome,” Changbin says. After a moment, he adds, “It’s so fucking weird when you’re serious, Minho.” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

\---

**[JISUNG]**

hey this is jisung! gum guy 

**[MINHO]**

yeah i remember your name 

i did get your contact info for a reason 

**[JISUNG]**

haha right 

well i just wanted to tell you i'm going to be wrapped up with work after i get done with classes today 

so i don’t think coffee will work later for me unfortunately 

**[MINHO]**

oh that’s fine 

when are you free? 

**[JISUNG]**

mmmmmm tomorrow would work for me 

is that good for you? 

**[MINHO]**

my only class tomorrow is an early one and i don’t have a shift after so that’ll work out 

**[JISUNG]**

OKAY NICE 

**[MINHO]**

depending on how early you’re up we could do it before class? 

mine starts at 8 am 

**[JISUNG]**

ah that wouldn’t really be good for me sorry 

i have trouble drinking or eating anything besides water before like… 10 

would noon thirty work for you? that’s right after my class gets out 

**[MINHO]**

you mean 12:30? 

**[JISUNG]**

yeah noon thirty 

**[MINHO]**

that should work for me! 

do you just want to meet outside your coffee shop? 

**[JISUNG]**

yeah i’ll send you the address but you’ve probably seen it 

it’s that corner shop on the same block as the florist just off campus from the art buildings? 

**[MINHO]**

oh 

yeah actually i think i do know it 

**[JISUNG]**

okay!!!! 

my class is starting so i gotta run but if you have any questions or anything just ask i guess 

**[MINHO]**

i think i’m good but i’ll let you know if anything comes to mind 

**[JISUNG]**

all good!! 

seeya tomorrow! 

๑>ᴗ<๑ 

**[MINHO]**

definitely! 

\---

Minho’s not sure if he’s relieved or frustrated that Jisung is busy with work. On one hand, it’s a relief that he has time to prepare for making good on his end of the bet, even if it’s only supposed to be a brief thing; relieving in the same way plans getting pushed back is a relief to Minho. On the other hand, he can’t even begin to put into words how frustrated he is with the fact that the whole thing is still looming over him like a shadow. Part of him wants to just get it done as much as part of him wants to keep putting it off. 

It’s frustrating to be so torn over something he’s pretty sure is unavoidable. 

At least there’s one thing going for him: Jisung definitely seems nice and that's a relief. The nightmare scenario would’ve been meeting his soulmate and them ending up being a piece of shit. Jisung, despite the awkwardness of their first meeting, has been quick to recover from the initial fumbling. Much quicker than Minho, in any case. 

Of course, they’ve barely actually talked. for all Minho knows, Jisung could still end up being an asshole if he gets to know him more. As it stands, Jisung at least seems nice for now, but— 

Ugh. This whole situation makes Minho’s head hurt. Fuck the soulmate business, why wasn’t it enough for Jisung to be a cute guy he met by chance? Why does he have to come with so many red strings attached? 

If he finds himself dwelling on all his anxieties for the rest of the day? Well, then that’s his business. 

When noon rolls around the next day, sure enough, Jisung is waiting outside of the coffee shop he picked out. Minho was right, he’s definitely seen it before. He’s never actually been inside, but he’s never heard anything bad at least. 

Jisung waves him down when he spots him coming down the sidewalk, a plaid yellow flannel halfway buttoned over a black shirt and a beanie over his blonde hair. He looks really cute, Minho can’t help but admit. 

He lets Jisung make small talk with him as they shuffle inside the shop, Minho pulling out his wallet as he stares up at the menu. This isn’t too bad for coffee prices at least. 

“So I can get whatever?” Jisung asks as they stand behind an older woman ordering first, glancing over at Minho curiously. 

“Within reason,” Minho says dryly, fully aware of how Jisung’s been eyeing the little display shelf full of snacks and pastries. “I’m not going to buy out the whole store for you, but if you want something to eat I don’t mind buying.” 

“Ooh,” Jisung says, eyes darting over to it. “I just want a hot chocolate and, um… what about a slice of the lemon bread?” 

“Absolutely not,” Minho says instantly, making Jisung’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Why not?” Jisung asks, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. 

“I hate lemons,” Minho says curtly. 

Jisung just stares at him for a moment. Then a smile cracks across his face. “Oh, I’m sure there’s a discussion to be had there then.” 

Oh, so he already knows about his awful lemon-eating ways. Good. “Apparently.” 

The woman in front of them finishes ordering and they move up together, Jisung resting his palms on the counter as he leans sideways to inspect the rest of the snacks under the glass. 

“I’ll take a large hot chocolate— milk chocolate— and two of those blueberry muffins,” Jisung tells the barista, prompting Minho to sputter. 

“Two?!” Minho _just_ said that— 

“One for me and one for you,” Jisung says simply, flashing Minho a wry grin that makes his mind go blank. He turns to look at the barista. “And whatever he wants to drink too.” 

“I— you,” Minho starts, staring at Jisung before deciding it isn’t worth discussing in front of a most likely underpaid worker. “I’ll just take a large mocha with cinnamon, please.” 

Minho pays and they’re shuffled off to the waiting area at the other end of the counter. When he turns to Jisung, the other boy is still just smiling at him. 

“You won the bet,” Minho reminds him. “You only had to get drinks _with_ me if you lost. You said the right thing. I was just going to buy you something and let you go like you agreed.” 

Jisung gives a little shrug. “Yeah, but with the way your friend set the whole thing up, there’s almost no way I would’ve lost. Not really fair to you, not when our tastebuds are linked. Soulmates and all, you know?” 

Minho’s mouth dries at that word spoken aloud. “It wasn’t really about the bet, that’s just how Changbin thought we could bring it up and prove it. You don’t… have to stick around.” 

Jisung laughs. It’s a nice laugh. “Man, Minho, it’s almost like you don’t want me around.” 

“That’s not true,” Minho argues immediately, and it isn’t. Jisung seems nice. He seems really likable. It’s also not totally wrong, mostly because every time the fact that they’re soulmates pops into his head, Minho feels a little woozy. “I just— you won—” 

“And you just said it wasn’t really about the bet,” Jisung teases lightly, the two of them turning to thank the barista when she slides their drinks over the counter along with a little bag with their muffins. “And besides, it’s alright! Really! I wanna get to know you more if that’s okay.” 

“Oh,” Minho says because he doesn’t know what else to say. What would he usually say if a guy told him that? Flirt? Yeah, he’d probably flirt. That doesn’t really feel like the right answer now though, and Minho doesn’t really feel confident enough to do that. 

“You can leave if you’re not comfortable,” Jisung tells him kindly, the mischievous look on his face replaced by a sort of genuineness that twists Minho’s gut. “I don’t want you to force yourself to hang around me if you don’t want to. I just thought maybe it would be neat to learn a couple of things about each other since we’re here. Talk a little bit, you know?” 

Jisung is really nice. Really nice and really, really cute. 

“Well,” Minho says slowly, glancing out through the windows of the shop where there’s a couple of empty tables. “The weather is nice and I am free, so… I guess if you’re okay with it…” 

Jisung’s face immediately brightens again. “I am! Come on!” 

So Minho sits with Jisung as they drink and eat their muffins, letting him rattle off a bunch of silly facts that Minho tries his best to match. Jisung is a cat person, much to Minho’s satisfaction. He can’t imagine his soulmate not being one, so that’s… that’s nice, at least, he must admit. Jisung’s an art major on campus, Minho is a dance major. Minho works part-time at a dance studio helping to get kids interested in dancing. Jisung is a receptionist at a barbershop that his older brother recommended him to before he took a chance and left to tour with his band as an opening act. 

“Isn’t that a big risk?” Minho asks with a little bit of wonder, leaning his chin on his hand as he listens. 

“Of course,” Jisung says instantly. “But Younghyun always says that sometimes you have to take risks even if you’re scared it might not pan out, otherwise you’ll be living a life full of regrets.” 

“He sounds pretty smart,” Minho says, “although I’d argue that moderation is important.” 

Jisung snorts. “He certainly thinks he’s smart alright.” His voice is incredibly fond. He must look up to his brother a lot, Minho thinks. “He’s gotten himself into some dumb situations because of that before, but I gotta say that I believe in him with this one. They’re really good.” 

“I’ve never heard of them,” Minho admits apologetically, and Jisung laughs. 

“It’s okay, they’ve mostly played small gigs so far, but I really think they have it in them to get bigger.” A smug smile spreads across Jisung’s face that Minho can’t help mirroring even a little. “And hey, if they do get big, you get to tell people you’re soulmates with the bassist’s little brother.” 

Minho’s smile falters. There it is again, the soulmate thing. Of course, he’s going to bring it up, it’s what they are, and yet— and yet he can’t stop the way it completely brings his brain to a halt. He’s really liked talking to Jisuing like this. He’s funny and nice to listen to, doesn’t push Minho to talk more than he needs to. He fills the silence without making it overwhelming. He’s kind of the perfect person to talk to for Minho. 

But the very mention of the soulmate thing brings his nerves back. 

“I guess so,” Minho says weakly. 

Jisung must pick up on the shift in Minho’s mood, a small frown settling on his face. That’s not good, Minho doesn’t want to make Jisung feel like it’s his fault. It’s not, it’s just— 

“Do you have any siblings?” Jisung asks, and Minho’s grateful for the distraction and that Jisung’s moving on. 

“Ah, no,” Minho says, tapping his long empty coffee cup. “I’m an only child.” 

Jisung laughs. “I can tell.” 

“What does _that _mean?” 

“I just can! You’re definitely a big only child kind of person.” 

“And you’re definitely a youngest child.” 

“Hey! I didn’t say it was a bad thing!” 

“And neither did I!” 

It’s nice the way they’re able to slip into banter. Minho wasn’t expecting that, not by the way he struggled to talk to Jisung at all two nights ago. It’s hard to think about that now when Jisung is able to pull conversation from him so easily. 

Eventually, Jisung asks, “Hey, so I was wondering about something you mentioned earlier. You didn’t let me buy the lemon cake because you hate it, right?” 

“Oh, God,” Minho says, rolling his eyes. Yeah, this was coming. It’s funny, he’s spent so long cracking jokes about this exact confrontation and now that it’s apparently happening, he can’t really find it in him to be genuinely angry or vindictive in the way he always told people he’d be. “Yeah. I hate lemons, so that’s a no go.” 

“Right,” Jisung says in amusement. “And I love lemons, so I’m countering that with a _yes_ go.” 

“Absolutely not,” Minho says, and Jisung’s dumb grin widens in response. What a brat. “Do you have any idea the _pain_ that you’ve caused me over the years? I’ve managed to avoid lemons my entire life outside of a couple incidents, and yet _you_ still kept putting the taste of them in my mouth.” 

Jisung holds his hands up innocently in front of him. “Hey! It’s not my fault we have very strong preferences on lemons and they happen to be the exact opposite of each other! I had no idea!” 

Exasperated, Minho shakes his head. “Okay, I guess I can understand lemon flavored stuff like the lemon cakes or lemonade or whatever. It’s not my thing but I get it. But straight up _biting_ into lemons? Really?” 

“It’s a totally normal thing!” Jisung says with a loud laugh, his cheeks puffing up as he grins. “Lots of people eat lemons like that!” 

“What even is there to like?” Minho says, simply shaking his head even harder in response. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “It’s so sour and it makes my mouth feel all dry and weird after… it’s just not pleasant at all! Why in the world do you even like them so much that you eat them whole?” 

Jisung makes a little sound of amusement, tapping the table and tilting his head back as he seems to think. 

“I don’t know, I just remember being really little and tasting one for the first time,” Jisung explains after a moment, and Minho suddenly feels a strange chill creep up the back of his neck. “I must have gotten into something I wasn’t supposed to, I doubt my parents would’ve given their toddler a lemon. I just know I spent a long time wanting to taste it again, but my parents were reasonable and didn’t let their very young child have any on purpose. A few years later I _do_ remember trying one again, and after that I couldn’t stop eating them.” 

That sounds— that almost sounds like… 

No. Absolutely not. It can’t be. 

And yet… 

And yet. 

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding,” Minho says dully, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose while Jisung blinks at him in confusion. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Jisung asks, leaning forward with concern on his face. 

“It’s stupid,” Minho mumbles, heat creeping up his face. This can’t be real. “It might not even be right.” 

“Tell me anyway,” Jisung says immediately, frowning at him. 

Minho clears his throat. “How old were you?” 

“What?” 

“When you tasted lemon for the first time? How old were you?” Minho asks, already dreading the answer he has a sneaking suspicion is coming. 

Jisung tilts his head slightly, thinking before he answers, “Probably like two? Somewhere around there.” 

Fuck. 

“You’re… what? Two years younger than me?” Minho knows. He already knows. 

“I’m nineteen, so if you’re twenty-one then yeah, I would be,” Jisung says, and Minho lets out a deep sigh. “What’s wrong with that?” 

This is so fucking stupid. “The reason I hate lemons so much is because when I was four, I took a bite of one without knowing what it was and it made me cry.” 

Jisung just stares at him for a moment with a comically blank face, like he isn’t getting what Minho’s suggesting. And then suddenly he starts to laugh, and if he wasn’t laughing at Minho’s misfortune he might’ve thought it was adorable how his eyes crinkle up, or how his whole body shakes with it like his laughter is too big for his tiny body. 

He doesn’t though. 

Mostly. 

“You’re joking!” Jisung’s face is entirely scrunched up now. “Oh my God, you literally doomed yourself! You’re the whole reason I was obsessed with lemons growing up and started liking them in the first place!” 

“Shut up!” Minho says, putting his head down on the table and covering his ears with his hands— surely they are bright red by now. “Shut up! We don’t know for sure! It’s just a guess!” 

“It makes total sense!” 

“Enough! Enough! I’m already mortified!” 

And Jisung drops it (mostly) but the way he keeps bursting into laughter every once in a while is enough to make sure that Minho knows that Jisung definitely will not be letting this go. 

Eventually the conversation drifts off, the two of them sitting in relatively comfortable silence as they people watch together. It’s nice. Minho knows all too well the way that silence can get sticky and stiffling with the wrong people, but with Jisung it just feels right. Like they don’t need to fill the air with unnecessary noise. It kind of reminds Minho of hanging out with Changbin. 

“How much longer are you free?” Jisung asks after a while, brushing a strand of blonde that’s fallen into his face out of his eyes. 

“I don’t know, a couple hours maybe? Why?” Minho raises an eyebrow. 

“I probably have another half an hour before I should head back home and start working on coursework,” Jisung says with a big defeated sigh. 

Minho taps his fingers on the table to the distant sound of some pop song playing from a store down the block. Finally, he asks, “Do you want me to drive you home?” 

Jisung blinks. “Are you sure?” 

“Why not?” Minho says, more to himself than to Jisung. Really, why not? Jisung is sweet. He likes Jisung— genuinely, he does. 

“Okay,” Jisung says, a funny little smile on his face. “That would be really nice, Minho.” 

Walking shoulder to shoulder with Jisung down to his car feels stupidly natural. Jisung falls easily into step with him, talking absently about the essay he needs to write when he gets home— or more accurately, he complains about how he became an art student to do art, not to write papers. 

Minho listens to him with amusement as he drives Jisung back to his and Seungmin’s apartment, the other boy interjecting with directions when needed but never quite stopping his whining about school. Minho can’t really blame him, he knows how good it feels to just unload about school work sometimes. He must admit, he does find it funny how easily Jisung is able to talk to him about his genuine complaints and annoyances so soon after they met. Even more so, he’s surprised at how genuinely interested he is in listening to Jisung’s concerns. 

The apartment isn’t that far from campus, close enough where Minho understands why Jisung had no problems walking to the coffee shop. He probably just cut across campus to get there, seeing as it’s basically on the other side of it and a few blocks down. It’s definitely not the _nicest_ apartments as far as Minho can tell when he pulls into the parking lot, but it makes sense that it would be something convenient for Jisung and his roommate. 

“So,” Jisung says as Minho parks the car, glancing out the window and to the apartment building. “This is my stop.” 

“I sure hope so,” Minho says with a smile. “Otherwise you just made me waste gas.” 

Jisung shakes his head. “Nah. Third floor and all the way to the end,” he says, pointing to the far end of the building. “My humble abode. Well, mine and Seungmin’s.” 

“It’s nice.” 

“Okay, well, you don’t have to lie, Minho. It’s a shitty apartment building for broke college students. My use of the word humble is even being generous.” 

Minho rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m not going to tell you that your apartment building is a shithole.” 

“That’s okay,” Jisung says, “I’ll say it for you.” 

Minho can’t help but laugh at that, the two of them trailing off into silence again. Jisung makes no move to get out of the car. Minho doesn’t make a move to kick him out. They just sit there, taking a quiet moment. 

“Hey, I really liked hanging out together, for the record,” Jisung finally says, making Minho glance at him. 

“Yeah?” Minho enjoyed it too, he thinks. He’s still a bit nervous around Jisung, but sometimes they really get on a roll together and it just feels nice. 

“I wouldn’t mind doing it again, if you decided you don’t hate me,” Jisung says with a laugh. 

“I don’t hate you,” Minho says instantly. 

The smile on Jisung’s face is genuinely pleased. “That’s a win for me.” 

Minho just snorts. 

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious,” Jisung continues, humming softly. “I just like hanging out with people even casually, you know? It’s not necessary to make a big deal out of hanging out with friends all the time, at least in my opinion— even if I love spending time with people!” 

“No, I get what you’re saying,” Minho agrees. 

The radio starts to play a song then, something slow with swelling instrumentals and soft vocals. It’s one of Minho’s favorites. 

“I think it’s just nice to hang out and get coffee with friends,” Jisung says, trailing off as if distracted, a sort of dreamy zoned out look on his face. He looks at the radio for a moment before he reaches out for it. 

Thinking of all the times Changbin has changed the station on him in the middle of songs like this, Minho instinctively slaps Jisung’s hand away before he can touch anything, earning him a surprised yelp from the other. 

“Ow!” Jisung cradles his hand against his chest with a pout, sticking his bottom lip out. Minho has the impulse to squish it but restrains himself. “Are you one of those people who hate when other people touch their car radio or something?” 

“I don’t like people changing my music,” he replies simply. 

“I wasn’t gonna change it, I was gonna turn up the volume,” Jisung says with a scowl. “Sorry, it won’t happen again.” 

Minho pauses. “You were going to turn it up?” 

“Yeah, I like that song,” Jisung says, and that strange, unidentifiable prickle at the back of his neck starts up again. 

“It’s one of my favorites,” Minho says quietly, and Jisung suddenly lights up. 

“Really?” The smile that spreads across his face is huge, and this close to him Minho’s struck by the shape of it: curved at his cupid’s bow, a rounded heart. It’s the cutest thing in the world— rivaled maybe by the way Jisung’s dark eyes sparkle. “Most people think ballads are boring and tell me to change the music to something fun when I try to listen to them with other people.” 

“I thought you were reaching to turn it,” Minho admits, and Jisung laughs. 

“No! I would never!” He tilts his head slightly, blonde hair falling into his eyes. 

Jisung reaches towards the radio again before suddenly stopping, hand hanging in the air as he glances back at Minho. “Is this okay? Can I turn it up?” 

Minho slowly nods his head. “Go ahead.” 

He flashes him another heart-shaped smile that makes something in the back of Minho’s head buzz before turning it up— and Jisung turns it up loud, loud enough that it fills the car completely with the swelling instruments. 

This is how Minho sometimes listens to ballads when he’s alone in the car. Loud enough that it drowns everything else out. He finds it relaxing. 

Judging by the way Jisung falls back against the passenger seat with his eyelids fluttered shut, a soft smile still painted across his face, the other boy feels the same way. 

Eyes still closed, Jisung says, “I’m glad to finally meet someone who appreciates them. It seems fitting it’s you.” 

_It seems fitting it’s you._

Because they’re soulmates, after all. 

Minho doesn’t quite know what to say to that, but he tugs his sleeves over his hands and drops his eyes down to his lap, fidgeting a bit. He wishes Jisung would just— that’s not realistic. He can’t wish that. He wishes he wasn’t so uncomfortable with the whole soulmate thing. Why can’t he just be like everybody else, all giddy and content to finally meet their perfect other half? 

“Did I just make things weird?” Jisung asks suddenly, looking at him with concern. It startles Minho. He didn’t expect Jisung to pick up on his discomfort. 

“I don’t know,” Minho says honestly, tapping on the steering wheel with nervous energy. His eyes settle on the dashboard, not really knowing where else to look. 

“Because it seems like I keep making you uncomfortable every time we start to click,” Jisung says softly, and that makes Minho’s head snap towards him. The look Jisung is giving him is almost a little sad. It makes his stomach churn. 

“No,” Minho blurts out before he can think because seeing Jisung look even a tiny bit upset is making him feel like shit. Anything to get that look in his eyes, that quiet drift to his voice, to go away. “No, it’s not you. It’s not— it’s not you making me uncomfortable, you’re fine, it’s just—” 

He bites down on his bottom lip. 

How in the world does explain this? Even Minho isn’t quite sure why he’s so on edge with Jisung, not when they’re _soulmates_. Who in their right mind is on edge when they’re with their soulmate? It has to be something to do with him. There has to be something wrong with him because surely it can’t be Jisung, not when he seems to have no problems being around Minho. 

“Are you going to try to tell me it’s not me, it’s you?” Jisung asks, and Minho winces when he hears his own thoughts said aloud. Jisung’s gaze suddenly turns stern. “Because if that what you’re trying to build up to, I really don’t care to hear it.” 

“I don’t really know what else to say,” Minho says quietly, quickly starting to feel bad. He doesn’t. Obviously he’s the only person having issues here, so it must be him. Jisung is fine. Minho… well, he can’t be around Jisung for more than a couple minutes without his brain throwing him into some sort of existential crisis over how this guy— who is funny and sweet and very cute and by all means the kind of guy Minho would probably flirt with if he had the chance and the two of them were completely removed from the concept of soulmates— is somebody that’s supposed to be part of his life for the long term. 

In all the stories that he’s heard of other people finding their soulmates, all of them talk about how they find so much comfort in knowing this person is meant to be theirs, that they’re supposed to be a fixture in their lives. Minho is less comforted and more completed stressed out; it doesn’t help that he doesn’t seem to be reacting the right way, so that’s making things worse. 

“Is it about the soulmate thing?” Jisung asks bluntly, and Minho presses his lips together. “Because every time it seems like we’re starting to get along, I’ll mention something that has to do with being soulmates and you’ll start acting weird again. Is that what’s making you uncomfortable?” 

Fuck, he’s perceptive. Well, there’s no dancing around it then. 

“I guess,” Minho mumbles, unable to push down the strange feeling of shame that’s sitting in his chest. “Like I said, it’s not your fault. It’s—” 

Jisung cuts him off. “And like I already said, I’m really not interested in hearing you tell me it’s something wrong with you.” 

“I didn’t say there’s anything wrong with me,” Minho argues weakly. At least, he hasn’t out loud. 

“You didn’t have to,” Jisung says with a shake of his head. Suddenly, the look on his face softens. “Look, I get it. It’s kind of freaky, isn’t it?” 

Minho blinks slowly at him. “What?” 

Jisung gestures between the two of them. “The whole soulmate business. Like, it is kind of freaky, right? Everybody always paints it as some really romantic, perfect thing where everything falls into place when you meet, but that’s kind of bullshit.” 

Minho can’t help but stare at the boy sitting next to him. “You think so?” 

“I mean, yeah,” Jisung says easily, and there’s not a single part of what he says that makes Minho think he’s just saying what Minho wants to hear. “I kind of grew up thinking the whole concept was really cool. Like, hopeless romantic level shit. I couldn’t wait to meet my soulmate because everybody always says it’s this amazing, life-changing moment.” 

“I was always okay with never meeting mine,” Minho admits, the confession slipping out before he can stop it. The realization that he just said that _to_ his soulmate makes him immediately slam his mouth shut. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—” 

“It’s okay,” Jisung says instantly, and the relief Minho feels is enough to make his shoulders sag. “You know, I was so excited to meet mine my whole life, and then you and your friend walked up with that piece of gum and that game and just… when I tasted what you did and I realized what that meant, it kind of scared the shit out of me.” 

Minho frowns. “Really? You seemed fine.” 

He tries to think back to two days ago. Sure, Jisung he looked more than a little shocked, but in Minho’s opinion, he’d handled it well. Much better than he did. 

Jisung shrugs. “Well, yeah. I wasn’t going to freak out in front of someone I just met, regardless of whoever or whatever the universe says you are to me. It’s one thing to have this really idealized concept of meeting someone who’s supposed to be your perfect other half, it’s another to actually meet them and realize they’re a real person you know nothing about except that they’re meant to be part of your life for a long time. I mean… that’s a lot to take in, I think.” 

“It’s so… permanent,” Minho offers softly, and Jisung nods slowly, his eyes glimmering in agreement. “When I said it wasn’t you that’s the problem, I meant it. It’s just… knowing all this stuff about us being tied together by fate or whatever…” 

“It’s freaky,” Jisung finishes for him. 

“Yeah.” Minho shifts in his seat a little, turning to face Jisung more. “Nobody ever talks about being uncomfortable with any of this, so I just kind of assumed it’s something—” 

Something wrong with him. But he feels silly saying that, especially now that Jisung’s echoed some of his own fears. 

Jisung hums thoughtfully at that. Even if Minho didn’t say it, it’s obvious he understands. After a moment, he says, “It’s definitely not just you that’s thrown off by this whole thing. I mean, I just told you I feel the same way to a certain extent. But even beyond that, I get the feeling that being a little unsettled around this kind of thing is probably pretty normal.” 

Minho raises an eyebrow at that. “Really? Because all I ever hear are these perfect love stories.” 

“Well, of course,” Jisung says easily. “Who wants to admit to the world that they didn’t know how to act around their apparent fatebound other half? Or that the concept of being tied to a stranger for the rest of your life is suddenly a hundred times more intimidating when that stranger isn’t just a nameless, faceless sensation on the other end of a bond? Of course people romanticize the hell out of meeting their soulmates; nobody wants to feel like there’s something wrong with them or that their experience is less perfect than everybody else’s.” 

That’s… Minho’s embarrassed to admit that he’s never really considered that other people sugarcoat their experience with meeting their soulmate. When Jisung suggests it, it just seems so obvious. Of course that’s something people would smooth out the details of. He’s spent a long time dismissive of the idea of meeting his outside of jokes specifically because of all the implications that come with meeting them. He’s spent the past couple of days absolutely nauseous because he thought he was reacting to all of this wrong, that there’s something wrong with him. That’s not something he’d want to talk about to other people— well, Jisung notwithstanding apparently. 

Jisung understands where he’s coming from, and that alone is enough to settle a chunk of the turbulence that’s been consuming him since they met. 

“I’ve never really thought about it like that,” Minho admits. 

“It feels a little bit better when you think about how you probably aren’t alone, huh?” A small smile spreads across Jisung’s face as he looks at him. 

“A little,” he agrees, and Jisung’s smile widens. He does have a nice smile. Still, Minho can’t help but think about the way Jisung hasn’t acted strangely with him at all while Minho’s been a nervous mess. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” Jisung says instantly. “We just bared our anxieties about the concept of being bound by fate to each other, I’m sure whatever you have to ask I can answer.” 

His eyes glimmer with amusement when he says it, and Minho can’t help but find himself smiling back a little. 

“I was just wondering,” Minho starts slowly, “if you’re as freaked out by this whole concept as I am, how is it you’ve managed to act so normal with me this whole time?” 

“Oh,” Jisung says, blinking. He stares at him for a second, lips parted, before he shifts, leaning back against the door and raising his legs so they’re halfway on the seat. “I mean, I was totally freaked out the night we first met. I couldn’t stop talking to Seungmin about how I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about it and how that worried me. After he got me to calm down, he told me that I was getting worked up over the concept of you, not the actual person. And that made sense to me, you know? I spent my whole life romanticizing the idealized version of my soulmate only to have that ripped out from under me and replaced with a real human being.” Quickly, he adds, “Not that the real human being is in any way less appealing! I already like you a lot more than whoever I was imagining!” 

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Minho manages, warmth creeping up the back of his neck. 

“But he was right. I was really stuck on the whole soulmate concept and that’s something that’s really overwhelming in reality,” Jisung explains. “So I’ve been trying my best to make sure I don’t think about you as my soulmate first, a human being second. It’s actually made it easier, I think.” 

“It does?” Admittedly, he’s definitely been thinking about Jisung as his soulmate first and foremost and as a real human person outside of that a very distant second. Honestly, now that Jisung pointed it out he feels bad, although not as bad as he probably would’ve if Jisung didn’t just flat out tell him he was doing the same. 

“It does!” Jisung says, a wry little smile appearing on his face. “Obviously I can’t be sure that you’ve been doing that too, we’re connected by taste and not thoughts.” Minho can’t help but snort. Forget having a shared sense of smell, _that_ would be a nightmare. “But if you have, I think it might make it a little less weird. You spend less time focused on the idea of being with your soulmate and all the pressure that comes with that and it becomes more like… well, it becomes more like getting to know someone you just met, I guess. Which is still something true, despite the extra details.” 

“Now I feel bad,” Minho says under his breath. “You’ve been thinking about this like getting to know me and I’ve been so in my own head that I doubt you’ve gotten to know anything other than me being freaked out about soulmates.” 

Jisung laughs softly, which Minho’s gotta admit isn’t the reaction he was expecting. When he looks at him with a puzzled expression, Jisung shakes his head a little. “No, man. You’re absolutely wrong. Obviously I still have a lot to figure out about you, but considering this is the first time we’ve properly hung out, I’ve picked up on enough. More than enough, really, considering we started talking about our insecurities right away.” Jisung rolls his eyes at that, obviously more amused than anything else. “I know you like ballads and slow songs, which is something we have in common. I know you tug your sleeves over your hands when you’re thinking a lot.” 

Minho glances down at where the black sleeves of his shirt are, in fact, pulled up over his hands. Clearing his throat, he immediately tugs his sleeves back down to normal. 

Jisung regards him with a look Minho can only call _warm_. “I didn’t say that was a bad thing,” he says softly. “It’s kind of cute.” 

Minho simply clears his throat again. “What else did you learn?” 

“You hate lemons and I’ve apparently been torturing you for years because I love them,” Jisung says with a smile, making Minho roll his eyes. 

“It is torture,” Minho says. 

“And apparently you’re really dramatic about it.” Jisung tilts his head, smile growing to an absurdly dorky size. “And really dramatic in general.” 

“Am not,” Minho protests, and Jisung shakes his head. 

“Anyways,” he says, breezing by that like he’s just decided he doesn’t even have to bother arguing with Minho. “I wouldn’t expect to know somebody super well after just hanging out once, so I don’t expect that now. It’s all about little steps, you know?” 

“Yeah, okay. I get that,” Minho relents. “That makes sense. I just… worry, I guess.” 

Jisung shrugs a little. “It’s okay, like I said I think that’s normal. Just think about me less like I’m someone special because the universe told me I am and more like the new person you just met who you like and want to spend more time with.” 

Minho huffs out a little laugh. “I like you and want to spend more time with you? Says who?” 

“You didn’t have to say it,” Jisung says cockily, waggling his eyebrows at Minho and pulling a much bigger laugh out of him. “I _know_ you want to get to know me better because I am _so_ utterly charming and lovable!” 

“Whatever makes you feel better,” Minho says, shaking his head. Another moment of silence settles over them, this one a lot more comfortable like their earlier ones. Then, he adds, “That’s actually good advice. I’ll try to take it.” 

“Good, because I meant it when I said I’d like to hang out some more.” Jisung’s still smiling at him, and Minho feels… not the uncomfortable anxious pinpricks on the back of his neck that have plagued him since he met Jisung, but something much lighter. A warmth creeping through his chest. 

“I’d like that,” he admits, and Jisung looks positively radiant. 

“I can’t promise that I’ll be able to stop mentioning the soulmate thing and everything related to it,” Jisung warns, suddenly shifting to a much more serious expression. “I’ll try to tone it down since I know it kind of freaks you out, but… I mean, our tastebuds are literally connected. It’s going to come up, you know? But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Minho reaches up to pull at his bottom lip thoughtfully before he says, “It’s okay. I need to get better at hearing it and talking about it. Hopefully your suggestion will help but you’re absolutely right, I know we can’t just avoid it. It’s just part of our lives and I have to get used to it.” 

“We’ll take it step by step,” Jisung says easily, and that is infinitely more reassuring than any of the _you meet your soulmate and instantly click_ bullshit he’s spent his whole life hearing. 

“Step by step,” Minho repeats in agreement, and when Jisung smiles genuinely at him he can’t help but smile back. 

Okay. So maybe this whole thing isn’t nearly as bad as he thought. Not by a longshot. 

Suddenly, Minho remembers the whole reason he brought Jisung back here in the first place. “Hey, don’t you have an essay to write or something?” 

In an instant, Jisung’s face twists into a pout. “Maybe I think getting my friendship with you sorted out is more important than that, huh?” 

Minho can’t help but rolls his eyes— even if the warm feeling in his chest grows hotter at Jisung’s words. “Wow. You just met me and you’re saying things like that?” 

Jisung bats his eyes at Minho as he finally opens the door, pout sliding off only to be replaced with a wry smile. “You like it.” 

Minho can’t say he disagrees. 

\---

Over the next couple of weeks, Minho finds himself spending more time with Jisung than he expects between messaging each other and actually hanging out with him— which they do a lot, mostly because their schedules line up well and… okay, admittedly it’s largely because he just enjoys spending time with Jisung and really likes his whole ‘one step at a time’ approach to the whole soulmate thing. It takes a lot of the burden off of Minho, makes actually dealing with it a lot easier and less nerve-wracking about doing things wrong or _being_ wrong. 

(“So you like him,” Changbin says eagerly when he catches Minho cackling at his phone over something Jisung just sent him. 

“He’s a nice guy,” Minho says simply. 

“But you _like_ him, right?” Changbin repeats, obviously not impressed with the non-committal answer. 

“Jisung is a nice person who I’m interested in getting to know better as a friend, yes,” Minho says, half because he likes seeing how frustrated him side-stepping the question makes Changbin and half because he’s not quite sure if he knows the answer to Changbin’s question himself beyond _yes, Jisung is very cute and sweet and nice and they get along well_. 

But does he _like_ him? 

Minho isn’t very good with feelings, much less his own, so if he decides to sit on that question for awhile then he decides that’s his business and nobody else’s.) 

“So why _do_ you torment yourself by eating lemons?” Minho asks one day while they’re sitting in his car after running to the convenience store near Jisung’s apartment. 

Jisung laughs. “You really don’t like them, huh?” 

Minho scowls. “You really do?” 

“I mean, I certainly wouldn't eat them as much as I do if I hated them,” Jisung points out. 

“You could be a masochist, I don't know,” Minho counters. 

Jisung snorts. “I’m not. I just like lemons.” 

“Liking lemons is already borderline masochism.” 

“It’s not.” 

“We’ll put a bookmark in this for now but it absolutely is,” Minho says. 

“It’s not,” Jisung repeats. 

“Bookmarked but I’m right,” Minho says. 

“Bookmarked but you’re wrong,” Jisung says. 

\---

It turns out that their friends only have so much patience with the two of them, much to Minho’s amusement. 

Maybe it would bother him if the two of them didn’t talk— in fact, he’s almost sure it would— but as it stands, he really can’t help but find the whole thing funny. They’re remarkably unsubtle about it, although Minho doubts that they realize it. They probably think they’re so clever, actually, in that way that friends can be when they think they’re doing something on the sly but you know them too well. 

So when their friends organize a picnic in the park— somewhere Jisung’s friend group has apparently had picnics at before— Minho is completely unsurprised when he turns up to find Jisung sitting alone on a blanket with a woven basket. Changbin dropped out last minute, claiming that something came up at work before blowing out of the apartment like a leaf on the breeze before Minho could question him further. 

For his part, Jisung is equally unsurprised. Hyunjin and Felix apparently had to work on something for an upcoming showcase and didn’t have as much free time as they initially thought when they arranged the picnic. Seungmin apparently developed a migraine shortly before they left, pushing Jisung out the door with all the picnic supplies they agreed to bring and telling him to have fun without him. 

“They are stupidly obvious,” Jisung says fondly as Minho sits down next to him, setting his own basket next to Jisung’s. 

“It’s fine,” Minho says with a roll of his eyes. “At least it’s a nice day.” 

“It is,” Jisung agrees, tilting his head back to gaze around them. 

It’s quite aways off the path— not so much that it’s deep forest or dangerous, in fact, Minho passed quite a few other picnic-goers on the way over here. It’s just more secluded. It feels more private, more comfortable. The trees block out much of the sky without it being uncomfortably dark, the leaves all turned a brilliant yellow. Supposedly it’s one of the last nice autumn days before the chill sweeps in, so he’s not surprised he saw so many people out and about. 

He gets why Jisung’s friends like this place. 

He doubts Jisung would force him to stay and have a picnic with him if he didn’t want to, just like he doubts Jisung thinks Minho would keep him too. Either way, it doesn’t matter. They’re both here, it’s a beautiful day, and they still have all of these snacks. 

So they have their picnic anyways, talking and laughing and falling into silence when words aren’t really needed. He notices their taste bond doesn’t act up as much when they eat together. It probably helps that they’re picking and choosing from the same snacks, but more than anything it’s just a faint hint of _something_ if he stops to really think about what he’s tasting when Jisung is eating something different than he is. 

Sometime between their snacking and chatting, Jisung lays back. Minho doesn’t really think much of it because Jisung keeps talking, but eventually Minho asks him something and a response doesn’t come. Sure enough, a glance at Jisung reveals the other boy has apparently dozed off. 

And the thing is? Jisung is remarkably cute when he’s asleep. 

Dappled sunlight peeks through the trees above them and kisses Jisung’s sleeping face, turning his warm skin and blonde hair to liquid gold. His cheek is pressed against the red picnic blanket beneath them with the way he lays, making it squish in a way that makes Minho want to reach out and touch it. 

He doesn’t. He does have some self-control. 

So he sits there, taking the opportunity to study Jisung’s face and only feeling a _little bit_ like a weirdo. It’s a nice face. Round. God, Jisung is so round. Not in a bad way— in the exact opposite of a bad way, really. His lips part, sticking out in a pout as he sleeps. 

As far as boys Minho’s been attracted to, Jisung definitely falls on the cuter side. Not to say he isn’t also handsome, because he is, but it’s hard for Minho to look at him for more than a couple seconds without his mind straying to thoughts of how cute he is. 

He shifts a little bit, warmth creeping up his cheeks. He’s not sure why acknowledging that he finds Jisung attractive makes him squirm a little. After all, when he first saw Jisung that was what he thought about. But now, it feels different. Embarrassing. 

God. What is it about Han Jisung that gets under his skin so much? 

Jisung doesn’t sleep for long. It can’t be much longer than twenty minutes at most, just long enough for Minho to get through a sandwich wedge someone— Seungmin?— packed in Jisung’s basket before Jisung lets out a big yawn, drawing Minho’s eyes back over to him. 

“Oh no,” Jisung says, his voice tiny. Fuck. He’s so adorable. “Did I fall asleep?” 

“A little bit,” Minho confirms softly, balling up the sandwich wrapper and putting it in one of the baskets. 

“You could’ve woken me up,” Jisung says, wiping at his face with the back of his hand like he’s afraid he drooled all over himself. He didn’t, but Minho kind of wishes he did so he could poke fun at him. 

“I could’ve,” Minho agrees. He leans back, resting his weight on his palms behind him as he looks at the groggy boy in front of him. He’s pretty cute when he’s just waking up. Just as cute as he looks when he’s asleep— although he won’t be saying that. “You looked like you could need a nap though, so I just left you.” 

Jisung laughs, the sound a little rough. It’s nice. “I guess. There are these fucking birds that sit outside the windows of our apartment and they always wake me up early.” 

Minho snorts. “That sounds rough.” 

“It’s awful,” Jisung says, stretching with a soft whine as he twists on the blanket and Minho watches him in amusement. He’s a bit like a cat. “I swear I’ve been sleeping half as much since Seungmin and I decided to move in together.” 

“Have you tried napping during the day when they aren’t so loud?” Minho asks. 

“I’m usually busy though,” Jisung says with a big sigh. “I used to take naps a lot freshman year because I wasn’t working, but now that I do to help with the apartment I’m usually using my free time outside of studying for hanging out instead because if I don’t do things with people I go crazy.” 

Minho laughs. “I’m the opposite. I have to recharge for days after going out.” 

“You’ve been going out a lot with me though,” Jisung points out, making Minho pause. 

Well, yeah. He’s right. Sure, it started with the bet and then their friends pushing, but it’s not like he ever flinched from Jisung asking to hang out after that first time. And it’s not like he’s ever gotten done with Jisung and went home and just collapsed because going out with him exhausted him, not like it is with some people. 

Funny, he’s never really noticed that until now. 

He manages a little shrug. “I don’t know, I guess you just aren’t as exhausting as everybody else.” 

A lazy grin spreads across Jisung’s face. “Yeah? You like me that much, huh?” 

“Don’t get cocky,” Minho says, reaching out to flick at Jisung’s forehead. He doesn’t even do it hard enough to make a sound, yet Jisung twists and squeals like Minho just whacked him over the head with something heavy. 

What a dramatic little fool, Minho thinks as the corners of his mouth quirk up. 

“You are _so_ mean,” Jisung whines, batting his eyelashes up at Minho accusingly. 

“I didn’t even _actually_ hit you,” Minho points out as Jisung sits up again. “For the record, Changbin can tell you that when I want you to feel a forehead flick, you’ll feel it.” 

“Are you threatening me?” Jisung asks, raising his eyebrows. 

Minho scoffs. “You’re just trying to egg me on now.” 

“Is it working?” The stupid grin is back on Jisung’s face. “Honestly, you’re fun to mess with. It’s really easy to get under your skin.” 

“You don’t get under my skin,” Minho retorts. A lie, considering he was just wondering why Jisung is so good at doing just that. “Besides, maybe it’s just you being a pest.” 

“A pest that gets under your skin,” Jisung shoots back. 

“Be quiet,” Minho says, reaching out to whack at Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung avoids it, ducking out of the way and reaching into the picnic basket closest to him before— to his dismay— crawling closer to Minho until he stops right in front of him, their knees touching. Jisung’s grin is wide as ever and Minho can’t help but stare back at him in confusion. “Uh, hello? Why are you so close?” 

“I think you like that I’m a pest,” Jisung declares, the breeze tousling his blonde hair. He’s too close, Minho thinks suddenly, something tightening in his chest. This close he can see how smooth Jisung’s skin is, how the light leaking in from the trees dips his hair and skin in honey; how one of his front teeth is a little bit crooked, how _round_ he really is and how young that makes him look. It makes Minho want to reach out and run his fingers along the sides of Jisung’s face, memorize every curve of it. 

“I don’t,” Minho says, but his thoughts are elsewhere and it doesn’t come out nearly as convincing as he wants. 

“I think you’d like me even if I ate a lemon right now,” Jisung says, eyes sparkling. 

“I wouldn’t,” Minho says, but what if— 

“Wanna find out?” Jisung asks, and raises a hand that holds what he presumably pulled out of the picnic basket— a lemon slice. 

“Oh, you little bastard,” Minho says, reaching out to try to grapple Jisung’s arm. 

He’s not fast enough, because sly as can be Jisung’s passes it to the other hand Minho isn’t holding onto and takes a big bite out of the lemon. Sure enough, the telltale rush of sour juice fills his mouth, making Minho’s face twist while Jisung looks back at him defiantly. 

God, Minho is so— Jisung is _so_… Minho doesn’t even know. Jisung is something. Something that definitely gets under his skin, something that knows exactly how to push his buttons to get reactions out of him. Honestly, with anybody else, Minho would absolutely hate it. He has his limits and for everyone— everyone except Jisung, apparently— his patience would’ve worn off a long time ago. As it is, all he can think about as Jisung waits for a reaction is _fuck, he’s right._

Because Jisung’s a little gremlin who figured out exactly how to tease him without taking things too far despite only knowing each other just short of two months, and he just took a bite out of a lemon to fuck with him, and— 

And Han Jisung is his soulmate and he’s looking at him with the smuggest expression after he swallows, a playful challenge in his eyes that Minho can’t help but want to meet. 

The truth of soulmates is they’re unavoidable. Minho has always been on a collision course with Jisung, always meant to crash headfirst into him at some point. As much as their meeting in the restaurant that night had seemed like a bizarre coincidence, it’s undeniable that the same cosmic force that tied their sense of taste together put them in that room at the same time. 

In another universe, Minho doubts he’d believe in soulmates, or at least not in the matter of fact way he acknowledges them now. 

In another universe, Minho wonders if Han Jisung would make him believe in soulmates, regardless of how he felt about them at first. 

But there’s nothing to wonder about here, not when it’s clear as day that they’re tied together. And it’s fascinating sitting across from Jisung on a blanket with their knees touching, the other boy smiling cockily at him, because in Minho’s head he plays back all the shows he’s watched, all the movies and books and stories that told him that he’d see his soulmate and fall in love with them instantly. It’s been drilled into him since he was old enough to understand the concept of soulmates, to the point where he’d just accepted that’s what it would be like. It’s what everything always told him, anyways. 

He isn’t in love with Jisung, is the thing. 

And that’s still so strange to Minho, to look at this boy with his bright eyes and cute cheeks and heart-shaped smile and know he’s his soulmate but he isn’t _in love with him_, that a flip didn’t switch in his head the moment he met eyes with him in that restaurant. 

Part of him is still a little scared that means there’s something wrong with them— something wrong with _him_. Minho’s always been weird according to others, but he didn’t think it was bad enough that he’d somehow mess up his soulmate bond. Part of him still worries that it means he’ll be lonely in the end, if he really fucked it up somehow. He’s not opposed to being alone sometimes, but being _lonely_ is different. 

But as much as part of him still worries, he can’t find it in him to dwell on it too much. Not when Jisung makes him smile and laugh the way he does, not when Jisung doesn’t blink at Minho’s more eccentric habits that usually weird people out, not when they haven’t even known each other two months but they already fit so easily together. 

Like two pieces of a puzzle that finally found each other. 

Jisung is a little shit and Minho isn’t in love with him but he already enjoys the other’s company so much that it’s impossible not to think about a time somewhere down the road where he _is_ completely and utterly in love with Han Jisung. 

It helps that Jisung is also incredibly handsome in a cute kind of way. It definitely helps. 

“Can I kiss you?” Minho asks before he can talk himself out of it. 

The smug look slides off Jisung’s face in an instant, replaced by wide eyes and lips parted in an O. It’s cute. Jisung is so fucking cute. 

“I just took a bite out of a lemon,” Jisung says after a moment, his voice coming out a little weak. Like Minho caught him off-guard. He supposes he kind of did, his question sudden when they’d been playing around and bickering moments before. 

“I know,” Minho says, sparing a glance at where the offending fruit now lies on a napkin. He can still taste it. 

“You hate lemons,” Jisung says slowly. 

“But I like you,” Minho responds, and it comes out so easy, so natural, that whatever worries he had are washed away in an instant. There’s something right about this— whatever _this_ is— even if it’s not the picture-perfect start he’d been told soulmates are supposed to have. 

“Oh,” Jisung says, eyes wide. “I like you too.” 

And that’s enough, Minho decides. 

“You didn’t answer me,” Minho prompts, shifting forward so his hand rests not on Jisung’s knee but on the soft fabric of the picnic blanket next to it. He’s careful, not wanting to push if it’s not wanted but still making his intentions clear. 

After a moment, a tiny smile settles across Jisung’s face. The sight sparks warmth in Minho’s chest. “I thought that _I like you too_ would be enough of an answer.” 

“I’d like to hear you actually say it,” Minho says, and he knows his face must be flushed as red as Jisung’s is now. 

Jisung’s face crinkles as his smile widens into a full-blown heart, his dark eyes shining. “Yes, Minho, I want you to kiss me.” 

And that’s so much better than assuming; so much better than _yes, you can kiss me_. Jisung wants it just as much as Minho does. 

His hand settles against the fullness of Jisung’s cheek, the skin warm to the touch and delightfully soft. It takes all the restraint he has not to simply press his fingers into it and marvel at how cute it is instead of letting his hand rest gently against it, cupping Jisung’s face like it’s something delicate. His eyes flutter shut, lips parted in a soft smile. 

He’s adorable, Minho thinks in awe, and not a single thought in his head is about soulmates as he finally presses their lips together. 

It’s gentle. Chaste. His lips are warm, just like his cheek. Jisung tenses for a moment when their lips meet before he relaxes instantly, one of his hands landing on Minho’s thigh as he leans into it. 

As far as kisses go, it’s remarkably simple. 

He likes how mundane it is if he’s being honest. It’s just a kiss. A sweet, short first kiss. Nothing more, nothing less. The universe doesn’t fold in on itself or explode, there are no stars spinning or earth-shattering revelations. There’s no instant feeling of _oh, this is love after all_. 

It’s just a kiss— and a rather nice one, compared to some first kisses he’s had. Certainly the sweetest. 

He pulls away with a smile, appreciating the way Jisung’s still leaning forward expectantly. His cheeks have colored even more, his eyes still shut. Sunlight casts him in gold, a lovely snapshot of what Minho can only think to call _warmth_. Warm in color, warm to the touch. Warmth between them, as simple as the kiss was. 

“Cute,” Minho breathes out before he can stop himself, but as soon as it’s out he can’t say he regrets it. 

Jisung’s bottom lip pushes out into a pout, his eyes opening and looking back at him with what Minho assumes to be an attempt at annoyance. It doesn’t actually meet his eyes— mostly because Jisung’s eyes are sparkling. The pout just serves to make him cuter to Minho, and with his wide dark eyes, it’s striking how pretty Jisung is. “Don’t tease me.” 

Minho laughs, his thumb brushing back and forth across Jisung’s cheek. To his delight, Jisung leans into his touch. “I’m not! You’re so cute!” 

“Oh, be quiet.” Jisung rolls his eyes. When Minho simple laughs again, he shakes his head with a smile before flopping back against the blanket, his arms spread out in either direction. “Gotta admit, when you asked if you could kiss me, I was expecting more than just a couple seconds of our lips literally just touching.” 

“I thought it was nice,” Minho says, raising an eyebrow. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it definitely was. It did feel a little middle school though.” Minho snorts. Okay, that’s fair. It did a little bit. Jisung hums thoughtfully, looking up at him from where he lays. “I don’t know, I guess I just expected you to be the kind of guy to go for a more… intense first kiss.” 

He’s not that wrong, honestly. Most of the guys he’s kissed, the first ones were nowhere near the gentle press of lips he gave Jisung. Maybe it’s the fact that the setting of a picnic blanket in the sunlight is a lot softer than most of the places his first kisses happen, or that he knows Jisung better than the other guys— or maybe it’s just Jisung himself, warm and friendly. There’s nothing about him that makes Minho want to rush. In fact, everything about Jisung makes him want to take his time, figure things out at his own pace. 

“I just didn’t want to push you,” Minho says instead, and Jisung gives him a knowing look. 

“Believe me, you are doing absolutely no pushing.” 

“Can’t be too careful.” 

Jisung cocks an eyebrow. “So what if I want more than that?” 

“Well, I _suppose_ you can ask nicely,” Minho drawls out lazily, hoping to provoke the whiney cute side out of Jisung again. He likes that Jisung. 

Instead, Jisung rolls his eyes before reaching up and grabbing Minho’s arms and tugging him down on top of him. He lands with a soft _oof_, his chest against Jisung’s as he finds himself nose to nose with the other boy. When all he can do is stare in surprise, Jisung gives him a cheeky smile before reaching up to thread his fingers through the dark hair at the back of Minho’s neck and pull him down into a real kiss. 

Okay. Maybe Minho likes confident Jisung too. Maybe he likes this Jisung a lot. 

He just likes Jisung a lot in general, he thinks, as Jisung giggles when his lips part against his. 

After a moment of shock, Minho lets himself relax against Jisung. His hand slides under Jisung’s jean jacket, settling against his waist and the yellow plaid fabric of his shirt. Even through the flannel, Jisung’s unbelievably warm. 

With a content sigh, Jisung pulls away with a grin— and Minho barely stops himself from letting out the most unflattering whine at having their kiss cut off when he was enjoying himself. “See? Isn’t that better?” 

“I wouldn’t say better,” Minho says, unable to keep the slight annoyance out of his voice. Jisung must notice, his grin growing even more. “I think all kisses are important in their own way.” 

“That’s surprisingly romantic coming from you,” Jisung says with a laugh that turns into a squeak when Minho squeezes down on his side. “Hey!” 

“I am plenty romantic, don’t say that like I’m not!” Minho says indignantly, pressing against Jisung again and making him squirm. Oh, so he’s _ticklish_. File that one away for later. 

“Mercy! You’re super romantic, I just don’t know better! Mercy, mercy, mercy, mercy—” Jisung begs breathlessly. Minho relents, satisfied that he’s at least won this. Jisung takes in big gulps of air, blinking rapidly to clear away the tears in his eyes. 

He’s really, really cute. 

Once he’s caught his breath, Jisung reaches up and gives Minho’s chest a light shove. “You’re crushing me, you bastard.” 

“You’re the one who pulled me onto you,” Minho reminds him, nevertheless rolling off so he’s laying on his back beside Jisung. “Better?” 

“Much,” Jisung says, brushing stray bits of hair out of his face. “You know, I wouldn’t have had to pull you onto me if you weren’t more focused on trying to tease me than kissing me more.” 

“Stop being so fun to tease then,” Minho shoots back. 

“I mean, if you like teasing me more than kissing me than I guess you don’t want to do it anymore,” Jisung retorts, and Minho pauses instantly. 

“Wait,” Minho says, turning onto his side so he’s facing Jisung again, a frown on his face. “No, hold on. I didn’t mean that—” 

Jisung immediately starts cracking up, face scrunched up around that heart-shaped smile of his. “Man, who’s the one that’s fun to tease now?” 

Minho hits him lightly on the shoulder. It only makes Jisung laugh harder, reaching up to grab onto Minho’s hand and hold it against him. “Why are you such a brat?” 

Jisung’s eyes glimmer up at him. “You don’t get to act surprised now. You knew what you were getting into when you asked to kiss me after I bit into a lemon.” 

“Yes, well,” Minho starts, knowing he has absolutely no defense. “Okay. Fine. You’re still a brat, though.” 

“Never claimed to be anything else,” Jisung says in a sing-song tone, his cackling finally subsiding. 

A quiet settles over them, the only sound except their own breathing around them the birds, distant people on the paths, and the soft crackle of leaves in the breeze. Jisung still holds onto his hand, his fingers curled around Minho’s wrist where it sits across Jisung’s chest. He’s just looking at him now, the corners of Jisung’s lips softened into something much gentler than the grin he was just wearing moments ago. 

“So,” Minho says after a long stretch of silence, clearing his throat a little. 

“So,” Jisung repeats playfully, letting his hand slide from Minho’s wrist until he’s nudging their fingers together. Minho lets him, watching in fascination as their fingers intertwine. Their hands are more or less the same size— Minho’s fingers are longer and Jisung’s palm is bigger but it all evens out in the end— and when Jisung looks at him slyly like he just did something super smooth, Minho’s heart twists. 

What a dork. 

“I don’t really know what to do now,” Minho admits, feeling a twinge of embarrassment at his own words. 

“That’s okay,” Jisung replies immediately, absently rocking their joined hands on the heel of their palms almost as if they’re dancing. “We don’t have to _do_ anything, at least I don’t think so. I like you, you like me. It’s that simple. We’ll figure it out as we go.” 

“That’s… reassuring,” Minho says slowly. It is. It’s a lot less stressful than having to figure out everything right now in the moment. He likes that about Jisung— that not everything has to be perfectly planned, that it’s okay to just roll with what’s given to them. “We do have to say something to our friends though since, well, you know, they kind of tricked us into going on this picnic together.” 

Jisung hums in acknowledgment before his eyes light up mischievously. “What if we don’t?” 

Minho raises an eyebrow. “What?” 

Jisung rolls onto his side as well, their hands still linked and falling to the blanket between them. “What if we don’t tell them? Just let them think we still haven’t moved past the awkward _will they, won’t they_ stage they’ve been so bothered by since we met?” 

Minho huffs out a laugh. “Why? Just to annoy them?” 

“Yeah, I mean, they’ve spent the past two months or so trying to shove us together. Why can’t we have a little fun as well?” Jisung’s eyes crinkle as he speaks and Minho has to resist leaning forward and kissing the corners of those bright eyes. “I don’t know about Changbin, but I’m pretty sure my friends will eventually reach a point where they start coming up with ridiculously complex schemes to get us together and I _kind of_ want to see what they come up with.” 

Minho snorts. “I’m sure Changbin will get roped in somehow. Anyways, their plan worked out in the end, didn’t it?” 

Jisung laughs again. “No! This wasn’t them! Just because they got us on the picnic blanket doesn’t mean this is their doing! You and I are perfectly capable of stumbling into our own relationship, thank you very much!” 

“I suppose you’re right,” Minho agrees. No matter what plans their friends tried, if the two of them hadn’t talked about their insecurities and started trying to actively work around them, there’s absolutely no way him and Jisung would be where they’re at now. 

“Besides, even if it _was_ their doing, I think they deserve to be messed with a little bit for meddling,” Jisung says. 

“I’m game,” Minho says finally, earning him a pleased look from Jisung. “Not for too long though, right?” 

“Nah, maybe like a week or two or until they figure it out on their own,” Jisung says, turning onto his back again. “That gives us time to figure things out at our own pace too. Not that I don’t love my friends— and I’m sure you love Changbin too— but it would be really nice to work through things without the pressure of everyone we know breathing down our necks.” 

“That does sound really nice,” Minho says. 

After a moment, Jisung tilts his head and looks at him with a smug look. “You know that means you can’t just go around kissing me whenever, right? I know I’m completely irresistible, but for the sake of this agreement you can’t just jump me whenever.” 

Minho scoffs in disbelief, rolling over onto Jisung and pressing all of his body weight down on him until Jisung whines at the pressure. “Awfully bold that you think you get to talk about me restraining myself when _I_ asked nicely to kiss you and _you_ grabbed me!” 

He expects Jisung to relent with cries of mercy like earlier. Instead, Jisung lets out a strained laugh before saying, “I guess that just means we’ll both have to get it all out of our systems now, huh?” 

He doubts that kissing Jisung as much as he wants right now would stop him from wanting to kiss Jisung later— in fact, he bets it’ll make it worse— but honestly, the two of them have talked so much since their first two kisses that he doesn’t care if Jisung’s logic is flawed. He really, really wants to kiss Jisung again and he isn’t about to turn away the blatant offer. 

“Guess so,” Minho says, watching the way Jisung’s whole face lights up at his words. Fingers still interlocked with Jisung’s, his free hand finds Jisung’s cheek again as the other boy looks at him expectantly. 

Maybe, Minho thinks as he smiles against Jisung’s mouth, he doesn’t mind lemons that much after all. 

(He does, but maybe Jisung is worth putting up with them for.) 

**Author's Note:**

> admittedly i'm not too sure about this fic and feel it's more than a little all over the place, but i was sick of sitting on it so i tried my best! i hope you all enjoyed it more than i did, at the least!
> 
> ☆ twitter: [LlNOHAN](https://twitter.com/LlNOHAN)  
☆ curiouscat: [lunarminho](https://curiouscat.me/lunarminho)


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